Arkham
by uselessnerd
Summary: This is a sneak peek into the life of Dr. Harleen Francis Quinzel. This is a scene that is referenced in the movie but never fully shown. I decided to take it into more detail. This is just a one scene story so far, and my first story on this website. Hope you enjoy!


Dr. Harleen Quinn stood in front of the large, sound proof, metal latched doors. She held a clipboard in one hand, and in the other a cup of coffee. She looked down at the clipboard, studying the small printed font; a long script of patient history, medication, instances of violent outbursts, and previous methods of treatment. All of the information; everything; was written on this clipboard. She held the key to his secrets, his weaknesses. Probably more importantly, his weaknesses. The hallway in which she stood was cold, kept at a mere 65 degrees year-round to prevent any heat induced outbursts. The doctor wrapped her lab coat tighter around her body, feeling herself quiver. Her small, slim frame was vulnerable to cold temperatures. She looked down one again, this time to her feet. She wore a pair of plain white heels. Flawless. Clean. Utterly clean. He should see her reflection in the shoes, and she saw her body shaking, although she had no logical explanation as to why.

She took a sip of her coffee, preparing herself for what lay ahead. As the hot liquid touched her lips, her hand shook, and a few drops of coffee sloshed over the edge of her mug, dribbling down the side and then falling onto her perfectly clean white lab coat. She jumped, surprising herself. She felt off-kilter today. The doctor took one last gulp of her coffee and then dumped it in a trashcan at the opposite end of the hall.

There was a small window at the top of the tall metal doorframe. Even in heals, Harley had to stand on her tiptoes just to slide the window open enough to see him. It was as she suspected. As it always was. With other patients, she could open the window and stay unseen. The patient would be huddled in the corner mumbling to himself, or fully sedated, asleep on the floor or on the table. But not him. As she peered through the window, she saw him the way she always did: sitting at the table, cuffed hands laid on the table in front of him, and cold purple eyes staring right at her.

Harley's heart jumped. She jumped quickly off of her tiptoes and let the window slam shut. Then, carefully, she reached into her lab coat pocket and pulled a large silver key from it. Slowly, she unhooked it from its chain, hands still trembling, then, she fit it into the keyhole, and turned it sideways. There was a loud noise as the heavy, unoiled hinges swung open, and she stepped into the room.

He said nothing as she entered the room and prepared. He never said anything, but she knew he was always watching her. She pulled a chair from the corner up to the table and placed it across from where he was sitting. She lowered herself into the chair, and only then did she lift up her head and let her eyes lock with the monster that sat across from her. It always started this way: a staring contest. She wo;d push her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose and they would watch eachother. Neither's eyes would sway for at least a minute, but it was always Harley who would loose, finding it uncomfortable to stare into those cold lilac eyes for any longer.

He spoke first.

"Ms. Quinn" he sneered in an uncomfortable yet endearing tone.

"-Dr. Quinzel" she interrupted him, "Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Doctor. I am your doctor." She let out a long breath, pleased with herself for so quickly taking initiative.

" _Doctor Quinzel,"_ he mocked, leaning forward in his chair, elbows still resting on the table, "Oh my, my dear. What have we here?" He reached forward, his hand reaching toward her coat. She flinched and jolted backwards out of instinct, but then reminded herself that he was handcuffed. There was nothing he could do to hurt her here. She adjusted and leaned foreword again to resume the inquisitive physiatrist position. His long arm barely reached the reached her coat from across the table, but it was long enough that the tip of his finger could lightly brush up against the fabric, running across the spot where she had just spilled coffee.

"Off to a shaky start this morning, are we?" he pried.

She didn't respond. _Do not engage the patient in his manipulative behavior._ The first rule. She waited, and slowly he withdrew his arm and placed his hands and elbows back on the table.

She redirected her attention to the clipboard. First question:

"Mr. J, have you been experiencing any side affects from your new medication?"

She waited for his response.

"No. Have you been experiencing any side affects from your medication, Dr. Quinzel?"

Her heart jumped into her throat, and she couldn't help but let out a small screech and then a "Wh.. What?"

"Oh, come on Doctor," the Joker squealed, "It's been no secret that you are one out of many, many strange doctors here who is currently taking anti-psychotics."

She felt a lump in her throat grow. She wanted to scream " _Where the FUCK did you hear that, you sick, demented, BRILLIANT BASTARD?"_

Instead she mumbled, "My personal life and/or private information and endevors are off topic conversations. Mr. J." She let herself move on.

" Have you been experiencing any abnormal or elevated paranoia, rage, confusion, delusions, dreams or depression since we last spoke?" He let his eyes roll back into his head. He did this when he was thinking. She let him sit with it. He would speak.

"Last night I had a very exciting dream I have a feeling you may be interested in hearing about, Doctor." He stared at her.

"Oh? Could you describe the nature of the dream?" His eyes rolled back again as he contemplated his dream. This time he spoke fairly quickly. He spoke as if telling a story to a child, with an over animated voice and a large smile now spreading from cheek to cheek.

" I was here. In this shithole, that is. Have you noticed that, Doctor? This place is a SHITHOLE?" his voice had already risen. He seemed to self-redirect this time, though, and he continued in a calmer fashion, before Harley had time to scold him for lashing out. "But my cell was _OPEN! Imagine that! Freedom._ I had a machine gun. I shot down the two guards outside of my cell and busted open the bunks upstairs. I shot all of them; all of the patients; shot them dead. Then I shot the guards. There was blood everywhere. I got out of this place. Found a car and smashed the window. I shot the owner and drove off." He paused, waiting for Harley to respond.

"Mr. J, this is a fairly common dream for you. We have discussed this in past and therefore the nature of this dream is not abnormal, or elevated in severity. I see no reason for you to express this dream to me. Is there any particular reason you chose to share this with me, Mr.J? Because otherwise I find it of no significance to me."

This time he did not stop and think. He had his answer ready. He had already planned it.

"Ah, on the contrary, Doctor, I would argue that this dream should hold extreme significance with you. You see, in this dream, my weapons were not simply at my disposal. No, in this dream, you gave me the machine gun."

Her heart stopped. _But this was normal. This was a normal dream for the patient. And it was perfectly common for patients to develop strong feelings towards their higher authorities, which could easily manifest in dreams._

No, it wasn't any sort of abnormality that struck her. It was adrenaline. A boost of energy, a tingling in her fingertips and her heart throbbing in her chest.

 _She_ was in _his_ dream.

 _STOP IT,_ she thought. _Look at yourself. Be smart. Don't let yourself fall. Don't let yourself devolve into what you were before. Do let all of the work become undone._

But when she looked at him she felt an attraction and she couldn't push it away. Instead, she looked down at her clipboard to jot down what he had said and find the next question. She waited for about a minute even after she had finished with the clipboard. She waited to look up because she felt that her cheeks were hot, and she knew she was blushing. When she looked back up again, she was grinning. _He knew._

She moved on to the last two questions.

"And Mr. J, have you been experiencing any abnormal compulsions or urges?" His eyes did not roll back. He did not take time to think. He just spoke. He almost cooed.

" _I have been experiencing some very abnormal urges lately, Harley, would you like me to share them?"_

She was too shaken up to correct him. This was devolving fast. It was time to wrap up the weekly evaluation and go to the corner café to grab a sandwich and a diet soda. She knew the last question by heart. It usually took the longest and prompted the strongest reactions from patients.

"Is there anything that the facility can get for you that would make you feel safer or benefit your treatment here at Arkham Psychiatric Facility?"

There was no pause. There was no outburst there was no manipulative behavior. She watched him and he locked eyes with her. He was calm and collected.

" _You can bring me that machine gun"_


End file.
